


the stars are shining and the moon is bright and the curve of the earth is soft

by Mercs



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Danny likes flying, It makes him forget that he's fated to outlive all his family and friends :), accidental angst at the end there. oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-07 23:39:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7734241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercs/pseuds/Mercs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's flying, they said, and it's as close to the stars as he'll ever be able to get.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the stars are shining and the moon is bright and the curve of the earth is soft

He’s flying, they said, pointing up at the night sky filled with stars and clouds. He’s out there again, again. Every night, he’s flying. He finds more fun, more joy, in being out in the air at night than being home, bored and busy, uncomfortable. He flies with reckless abandon, performing stunts one could only do in the comforts of only their wildest imaginations. But he loves it, loves it all. He loves the rush of wind against his incorporeal body, the adrenaline it fills his nonexistent veins with, the sense of freedom it brings him. He loves the open air, the light from the stars, the soft, cool feeling of the clouds. He revels in the loops and rolls and free falls he does, basking in the moonlight even as he comes to a slowing stop to lay back in midair and stargaze. He wishes it could last for more than a couple brief hours each night.

 

But too soon he’s back in bed; no stars, no clouds, no wind, no excitement. It’s disappointing and he’s upset, but there’s nothing he can do but stare longingly out his window until his eyes flutter closed and the ticking of his bedside clock lulls him into a dreamless sleep for the next hour or two. He’ll wake up with little sleep and a sour attitude, but he promises himself he’ll be back in the sky where he belongs in a few hours, just wait it out, he can do it, he does it every day. He waits it out and it will be just fine.

 

The sky isn’t as nice when it’s midday, but he settles himself with the thought that while it isn’t the best, he’s still here. He’s still where he should be. It works, for now. And it will work tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after, and every day. It always does. It always does. He figures midday would be a lot better if he was just free to fly, but he has to do his job. He has people to keep safe, whether they appreciate it or not. It’s worth it, he justifies. It’s always worth it. Even when they don’t accept his protection, even when they try to refuse him, turn him away, get rid of him, he flies anyway. The wind washes his worries away, and the faster he flies, the less they affect him. He only slows down to help, ignoring those wishing him ill. He is above them, and soon the stars will cradle him in their glow again and his cares will melt away like spring thaw. He smiles at the thought and continues on his way, looping and laughing despite the fears gnawing at his mind.

 

 

 

 

 

He’s flying, they said, looking up at the storm clouds that gather in the darkened sky, faces concerned. There’s no sight of stars, only clouds, and he isn’t visible between the threat of rain and freeze. He is lost among the high-pressure winds but he’s there, always there. He darts between empty spaces left between the clouds with drive and purpose and strength. He’s in his element, and although the elements are against him, he doesn’t care. The rain falls in sheets and if he were anyone else he’d be struck down by sheer force but he isn’t anyone else and he flies on, smiling and laughing and making jokes to keep his thoughts as light as the air around him.

 

Earlier than he’d like, his job is done, and the sky slowly clears up to the bright blue with scattered white puffs it had been a couple of hours earlier. He sighs to himself, knowing he can’t spend more time up in the stratosphere now. He has other priorities, things to get done, people to be around. He can’t stay up here forever, even if he wants to. His mood falls again as he brings his feet back to the ground. He’ll always have later, he tries to reassure himself. Always later, when no one is around to tell him no. He’s placated for now and forces a smile to prove he isn’t upset. It works.

 

The cool air dissipating from the storm’s aftermath is more relaxing than he’d expected, and he’s happy. It’s unexpected and he’s glad to have something in his day that isn’t unpleasant or disappointing or actively seeking him out, or something. Priorities are left to the him that cares, the him that he leaves behind on the ground without second thought because he much prefers to be free in the clouds than weighed down by life. When he’s in the air, he’s free of judgement, he can do whatever he feels like without someone breathing down his neck about his every little choice he makes, trying to make him feel something other than good about himself. The clouds, the sun, the stars, they don’t judge. They hold him up together in a hammock of winds and he soars into the open, keeping him enthralled with their ever-changing layout. They take this poor passionate spirit and lift him up so high he’d be dizzy if he wasn’t so spectral.

 

 

 

 

 

He’s flying, they said, staring out the window from afar and hoping no one wondered where he was. Everyone was gathered around the glass trying to get a glimpse of their hero, their enemy, their friend. He had mixed feelings about the attention﹘ one part wanting it, craving it, the other disregarding it, wishing it would stop. Who would want the attention of those who think less of him on a daily basis? Him, of course, because now they’re “ooh”-ing and “ah”-ing and wishing they were good friends with him; yet in the same mind, he wants to completely ignore them for his own reasons. Nonetheless, he does his loops and aerial tricks for them, making quick work of his only worthwhile job so he can go back to being invisible. God, he’d rather stay in the air, with the refreshing breeze against his face. But he’s busy, and if he stays in the stratosphere someone will ask where he went and he can’t let that happen, he can’t. So he finishes and flies off and around, to find a place away from prying eyes, and makes it back into the building before anyone can be the wiser. He hears idle chatter about how he missed other people’s idol again, but he shrugs it off and sits between his friends as usual. The stagnant, hot air of the room is annoying, but he’ll be back outside soon enough.

 

The rest of the day is filled with half-hearted smiles and jokes. He’s keeping himself distracted, so he doesn’t try to sneak out again. He repeats his mantra over and over again in his head, he’ll be back later, he’ll be back later. It doesn’t help as much as he’d hope. He repeats it anyway, to keep his mind preoccupied with thoughts of something else. He can wait a few hours, just a few more hours. He can have all the fun he wants then, when he has the privacy to let loose in the sky he so loves. He’ll be alright. It’s just a couple hours more.

 

The fresh evening air is relaxing against his skin, and he smiles in the dying sunlight. The sunset is always a welcome sight for sore eyes. Every day the colours change, and it’s relaxing to watch the sun descend from his place among the clouds. The stars fade into place as the sunlight leaves, and his wide green eyes reflect the soft gleam as they start to glow. He wonders, if he were in space, would his eyes glow so bright that they’d look like stars from Earth? Would he himself look like a star, the supernatural glow that surrounds him standing out among the endless black of space? He hopes to test these theories someday, when he’s free to do what he wants without much burden. Maybe the weightlessness he’d feel in space would be similar to the anti-gravitational experience he has while flying. He’s free-floating, the pull of Earth not daring to touch him. He knows this is as close as he’ll get to space for now, though﹘ his dreams of space are just that. Dreams. But the sensation of hovering in midair, with the cover of the stars and the disappearing sunset is enough for him today, and as he eases back into his room, the thought of stars and space lulls him to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

He’s flying, they said, and the surprise was clear as day on their soft faces. Their alarm was replaced with childlike wonder as they watched their friend perform loops through the trees. They had been concerned, at first, but seeing his thrilled expression as he raced through stratosphere was enough to clear their doubts. He was enjoying himself, floating and soaring and diving and flying through the air as though he’s always been able to but never had the chance. His elation was clear on his face, and slowly their features began to match his as they watched him speed past them. He looped and rolled around them, occasionally pulling them with him to be as weightless as he was, laughing as he let them down because they suddenly didn’t see the joy of being up so high. He was happy, for once he was happy.

 

His friends had always been their for him, through thick and thin, and he always meant to thank them for it. They’d helped him, held him, healed him, saved him, and a myriad of other things he meant to remember but forgot, always forgot. They did so much for him that he could never remember every single time they’d done something for him, with him, and it bothered him just enough to complain, but not enough to try and remember. He knew they’d continue being there for him, he didn’t have a single doubt about it, yet he ignored the nagging feeling telling him otherwise. It was better to think positive, he reminded himself as he hovered over his home. They’d be there.

 

He stayed close to the ground, barely hovering as he passed through people, cars, buildings, and whatever else happened to be in his path. He ignored the people trying to grab his attention, calling his name and trying to tap him. He turned invisible when they came with cameras. He didn’t want to be noticed. He never wanted to be noticed, but if he took to the skies he felt like he’d never return to the ground. So instead, he kept floating. He lost track of time hours ago, but as the sun started setting he reached his destination at last. He stared at the stones that stood in front of him and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see. He could almost hear them. He’s flying, they said, and in the soft glow of moon and starlight he touched down on the browning grass to fall to his knees and cry.

**Author's Note:**

> i ended up turning this in for a grade in my english class bc my teacher let me write fanfic instead of an essay about myself.
> 
> it's been sitting in my drive since then so why not post it for others to read


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